Paul Potts - One Chance: A Memoir

One Chance

One Chance

A Memoir

PAUL POTTS

WEINSTEIN
BOOKS

Copyright 2013 by Paul Potts

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ISBN: 978-1-60286-229-6 (e-book)

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Set in 11.5 point Bauer Bodoni

First edition

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

CONTENTS

Id like to dedicate this book to Julz,
my long-suffering wife, without whom Id be lost.

I HAVE SAT THROUGH a lot of auditions through the last decade, some good and a lot not so good! But there are a few auditions I will always remember for special reasons, and one of those is Paul Pottss.

It was the first season on Britains Got Talent, back in 2007. The auditions werent going great and I was genuinely worried whether we were going to find a star. We arrived in Cardiff and the day was not going very well but I remember a shy man in a funny suit walking onto the stage. I looked over to Piers, Piers rolled his eyes as Paul quietly told us he was an opera singer, then I rolled my eyes! Then he started to sing. I will never forget that momentthe atmosphere in the theatre changed in an instant, he literally raised the roof, and I knew our show was safe.

Over time I got to know Paul as a person and I got to know his other qualities. Paul has real courage; he overcame the bullying of his childhood as well as the many other obstacles life had thrown his way. Paul also has such dedication; he is someone who was always going to work hard to achieve his dream of a singing career.

Pauls road to success reads like a film script, and now it has been turned into a movie. This couldnt happen to a nicer guy; he is genuinely one of the warmest, friendliest guys I have had the pleasure of working with. I am delighted and proud that we were able to give him that original chance, but everything else has been down to him.

I WILL NEVER FORGET that fateful day. That dull, wet Saturday morning on St. Patricks Day in 2007 when I arrived at the Millennium Centre in Cardiff to audition for Britains Got Talent.

My father was panicking that my wife, Julz, and I would be late. The audition was the same day as a Wales-England rugby match, and having set off from our home in Port Talbot, we hit the traffic just outside Llantrisant, about fourteen miles from Cardiff. My phone began vibrating in my pocket. I looked at the screen, and it was Dad, who was already at the venue.

The people are already going in! he said, with an audible scowl.

Stop worrying, I said. Theyre probably contestants from an earlier round of auditions.

But however much I tried to reassure him, I couldnt calm his nerves. He kept on calling me as we made our way up the M4.

I had been strangely subdued on the drive up, but once I reached the concert hall, all that changed. We still had some time to wait before I was sent to the holding area, and having no clue what time I would be going on, I was beginning to get quite nervous. I picked up my number from the check-in area31829, which I stuck sideways on my jacketand made my way up the stairs to the auditorium. The holding area was a bar behind the upper circle, and it was a very busy room, with hundreds of people scrambling round for seats and plenty of film crews to capture every moment of rehearsal on tape. Through the walls we could hear the proceedings of the previous group: the noise of the audience rippled through, as did the sound of the dreaded buzzer. That silenced the crowd in the holding room immediately. It was something none of us wanted to hear when it was our turn to be on stage.

Id read advice online from previous contestants, who suggested you should make as much noise as possible, dress wildly, and practise hard to make sure you ended up on film. In fact, to do just about anything to stand out from the crowd. But that was the last thing I wanted to do. While others were rehearsing loudly to catch the attention of the cameras, I attempted to fade into the background like a wallflower.

I wasnt here to make a career out of what I was about to do. Instead, I was here to finish a journey that had started at the age of six. Singing was something I loved doing, but I could see no future in it.

Hi there, can I ask what youre here to do?

My thoughts were interrupted by a guy in a pale-blue fleece coat from the production team and his colleague holding a TV camera. Its strange that a previously coherent person can become a jabbering wreck when facing a large piece of electronics placed on someones shoulder. It took me some time to pluck up the courage to even say a very weak hello. It was right about then that I started to have second thoughts about being there.

I didnt really know what to say, and ended up blurting out the first thing that came into my head.

Im here to sing opera, I told the guy. Its something I feel I was born to do.

Thats great, the guy replied. How about singing something for us here and now, a cappella?

I responded with a very nervous look towards Julz, and a very fast shake of the head. I dont want to do that, I said.

I wanted to go back to being the wallflower. I felt I wasnt the kind of person who should be in front of people, in full view. I felt fat and slightly scruffy. The suit I was wearing was all I could afford, and for some reason I had insisted on buying one that was too small in the chest but at the same time too long in the arms. The last thing I wanted to do was draw further attention to the fact that I didnt really belong here. Reluctantly, the member of the production crew accepted my refusal to sing. He finished our quick chat and moved on to another person.

I tried and failed to find out when I would be on stage. This was disconcerting, as I always like to be well prepared so as to perform at my best. But now I was faced with no warm-up area, no sound check, and no timetable. I did my best to try to find somewhere private enough to warm up, and ended up in the gents toilets. Even there, I didnt want to sing in front of anyone. The moment I heard footsteps approaching, I pushed the lever of the tap as if to wash my hands. There appeared to be no way of warming up at all. After a while, I just gave up and returned to my seat next to Julz.